


Fall Awake

by prosolar



Category: Adventures of Huckleberry Finn - Mark Twain, Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn & Related Fandoms
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 05:23:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20384377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prosolar/pseuds/prosolar
Summary: I was smoking on the straw tick aboard of our raft late one evening, tied to the riverbank shore somewhere upstream in the Injun Territories, when I was struck with a thought.





	Fall Awake

**Author's Note:**

> In the inimitable style of Mark Twain, from the first-person narrative voice of our dearest, darling, overly-sensitive boy, Huck Finn. Totally unbeta’d and written in one night. Title lovingly borrowed from a [Ditty Bops song](https://youtu.be/P5ICJD76uSY).

I was smoking on the straw tick aboard of our raft late one evening, tied to the riverbank shore somewhere upstream in the Injun Territories, when I was struck with a thought. I was alone, Tom having pulled Jim along to set the lines, or hunt, or suchlike. I felt dreadful lonesome, which I reckon is likely what made the thought come along in the first place.

It catched me unawares, creeping up on me like out of a corner of my mind I shoved it in, somehow. The picture in my mind was Tom on the raft down the river in Phelps with that bullet in his leg, cold and almost alone himself, the doctor having gone on account of he couldn’t do nothing. I thought if he ain’t catched his death of bleeding out, he might a died of sepsis or some such, with Jim not able to do nothing, either. All the while I was sitting comfortable in a warm bed, tucked in, hoping to a God I had denounced that he mightn’t.

It was as if I had pushed the thoughts out of my head so well that when they came back, ‘twas all at once. And though the danger had long since passed, the tears paid that no heed, and come freely. I tried to keep it quiet and brief, because I knew Tom wouldn’t understand, being devoted as he was to his stories and rules; in those, of course, the heroes often died. No, he wouldn’t understand, I thought, and it would be best for me to hash out the feelings amongst my own self.

I cried more than when I saw Buck’s face all pale and sapped of color on the river shore (though this thought about Tom was imaginary), the tears veritably pouring out of me, till I thought I may never cry again, for I was so empty of ‘em. There was a pit running through me, a wide-open hole, and I felt no better than when I had started, only hollower. It was there I sat, sniffling to myself, when Tom finally found me, and startled at the sight.

Well, seeing that bullet hang around his neck was enough to send a body to memory of the incident, which started me up crying all over again, though I didn’t want to. And he set down right there in front of me on his knees, his face plain worried, and I felt that was real unfortunate, seeing as _he_ was the one _I_ was worried about. I warn’t worth getting in a fuss over. I was all right; had always been so.

Tom says, sounding sorry as he could, I’m sure: “Say, Huck, now what’s the matter? You ain’t hardly stopping for air.”

And, talking fast so’s to try and get the words out in between the sobs, I says: “I was all ca’m and put-together around your Aunt Sally, as she was falling apart herself, and I didn’t want to give her no more grief to handle, nor to let our whole yarn fall apart, because, Tom, I felt that very evening if I told her a piece of what happened, the rest would a followed right after, and I—”

He pulled me in his arms then, real gentle, and we were resting our chins upon one another’s shoulder, my mind too far in its fit of hysterics to think of how I was slobbering all over Tom’s nice, clean clothes (though he didn't seem to mind). I kept blubbering as he told me to breathe, and by and by he started to talk me down to my regular temperament.

He moved me away from him at his arm’s length, and says: “Now, what’s this really all about?”

His eyes were so full of warmth, mixed with a bit of pity, I could hardly stand it. I wiped at my own, rubbing so hard with the knuckles that stars speckled my vision a second. Then I reached out for his bullet, rolling it betwixt my forefinger and thumb. Says I, with a deep breath: “This is the matter, Tom. The matter that you may just as easily have died with this bullet than survived, and I hain’t thought none about it till now, so it seems to be all too much.”

“But I didn’t die, Huck. I’m right here with you.”

He missed the point, of course. “You might a died!” I says. “You just as well might have.”

And to that he looked a little relieved, now that we’d reached a finer point which he may argue. “Oh, dry your tears. I’d a died a hero’s death! That’s worth a thousand more years of living!”

Well, I thought different, but I kept that to myself. Instead, I says: “You’d a died in vain to save a n----- was already free!”

To which he looked mighty irked, though he decided against his character to try and comfort me, considering my state. “Now looky here, Huck, I’m plumb flattered you put so much stock in my being alive, but I’m at a loss for helping you feel any better.”

So I went to studying a moment, before giving my answer. “Tom,” I says, trying to keep my voice kind of serious-like, “you got to promise me you won’t get yourself in no heroic peril such as that any more. No matter the rules, no matter the books. If asking that of you shows my ignorance, well, I’m proud of it, for I could stand being the ignorantest person in the world if it meant you’d take care of yourself.”

Oh, but that really wounded him. And Tom warn’t the sort of boy to accept such a thing as that without protest, nor to lie on such a solemn note, not least to me—so when he said, sounding pretty disinclined, that he wouldn’t, he promised, I knew he’d stick to it. No more danger than was really necessary, we agreed. So it was then I felt he understood enough that I might tell him of the grief weighing on my heart, to share the load, maybe.

I said it made me just sick, the idea he would die before knowing how good his plans had gone off, and how delightful the farmers and farmers’ wives took it all, but how much it hurt me to think he mightn’t ever have got the the chance to hear. I said it hurt me more to see him all pale and lifeless in the sick-room, more than any licking pap ever gave me. Half-way through he moved to my side under the wigwam, and we was leaning together by reason of how late it was getting. Then I told him of the worst hurt yet, which was that it was all silly, and it warn’t any good to die of something so silly, which kind of out-weighed the heroism.

By the end Tom was getting all misty-eyed himself, and I felt awful bad to be making him feel such a way, but he hugged me so tight that I forgot I meant to feel bad. And when we broke apart, there was a look of tenderness which seemed to me altogether unusual on his face, seeing as he was so fired up, most times. He put a hand on my shoulder, and says: “Huck, why, I’ve half a mind to let you belt me one, I’ve been so careless and foolish.”

“Now, don’t humble yourself, Tom,” I says. “You’re just about the cleverest, most well-read person I ever see. And you got style to spare, if ever you wanted to spare it. But sometimes the world don’t reward those the most stylish, but more like the ones who do things the most safe and easy. We got to strike a balance, I think.”

He turned this over in his head, and says: “I don’t think it would do us good to play half by the rules and half by our own. If we ain’t doing things right, why bother trying here and there at all?”

“Well, Tom Sawyer,” I says, “if that ain’t the very question.”

“I can’t abide it, _Huck Finn_, and you know it.”

“We let on so many things at your Aunt Sally’s I’m surprised we got any rules left to follow.”

“Oh, _all right_,” Tom says. “We’ll let on, concede a few things—but the rules got to stay. They’re a skeleton frame, the very basics.”

‘Twas the most I reckoned I might ever get out of him, so I was glad about it. After that, we started to drift off, being late as it was. I asked him the time, which he checked, glad to do so: Late enough that neither of us saw anything to be gained staying up later, and so we was off to sleep, my mind and heart much the lighter.


End file.
